A Dark Welcome
by TheLastBookBender
Summary: Rhysand has come to collect his debt, and all might not go as smoothly as Feyre hopes. Will Feyre fall for another? Feyrand. This a multi-chapter fanfiction, written right after the end of a Court of Thorns and Roses.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey you all! I would appreciate any reviews. Constructive criticism is greatly welcome! This chapter will be a bit boring, just to set the plot and everything. This will be a multi-chapter fic. All characters belong to the wonderful Sarah. , as does her book, A Court of Thorns and Roses. Enjoy!**

Feyre:

I'm lying in bed with Tamlin, unable to fall asleep, the faces of the two young Fae etched into my brain. I'm pondering whether I'll ever be able to capture the innocence of their faces, the beautiful symmetry of their eyes, noses, cheekbones, when the darkness suddenly seems to be alive. Watching. I'm instantly alert. I shake Tamlin awake. He turns to me, clear-headed already, eyes searching my face. "What is it, Feyre?" He asks as his hand strays to my face.

Tamlin freezes, spine straight, his right arm propping him up. "Well, this is certainly a pretty sight." A silky voice washes over me as I slowly turn around. _Rhysand._ Shit. Tamlin snarls and his claws shoot out. Rhysand raises his eyebrows. "Now, now, none of that. Your lovely Feyre had made a bargain, and I've come to collect." Tamlin is crouching now, feral and stunning. He lunges at Rhsyand, but snatches at empty air. "Enough. " Rhysand's cold voice echoes from the other side of the room. "She will come with me. And nothing will prevent that."

I my hands form into fists. "Oh? _She_ -"I splutter to a stop, my tongue held by some unseen force. Darkness begins to wrap around me, and Tamlin drifts away, his face a mask of horror. I'm flying through a void, when I'm unceremoniously dumped in a large hall. My breath catches. It's beautiful. The floor and walls is composed of shiny black marble, with small bits of violet stones buried in the rock. _Just like Rhysand's eyes._ Elaborate scenes are etched into the marble, inlaid with colored rocks; flowers, vines, a magical stag, high Fae attending a banquet. And the ceiling… there was no roof, only an open night sky, all the constellations crammed into the space. A light hand came to rest on my shoulder. "Yes, Feyre. Beautiful." Rhysand's voice was soft and joyful. "Welcome to Night."


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey you all! Please review! I love reviews! Thank you for:**

 **Guest: Thanks for reviewing, much appreciated, really! Anyways, your review, small and simple as it was, made me write the next chapter so soon.**

 **Yeah, sorry that the last chapter was so short, and so bad. I haven't written any story or anything in a long time, so I'm a bit rusty. And I promise, the next chapter will have a 99.999999999% chance of being more interesting.**

Rhysand's hand on my shoulder sparks me back to life, sending waves of electricity and warmth through my shoulder. I flinch away from his touch, surprised at my body's reaction to him. Rhysand smirks, like he knew something I didn't. Unsurprisingly, it made my temper rise up like a six-headed beast, but I quickly tamped it down. I decide to get straight to the point.

"What do you want?" I hiss through gritted teeth. Rhysand put a hand on his chest and faked surprise. "Why, Feyre, I'm just helping you complete your end of the bargain. I opened my mouth to throw him a scathing retort, when I realized; he is right. Rhysand laughed, his breath warm on my neck. "Nothing to say?" I shrugged. "Just get on with it. What are you going to make me do?"

Rhysand suddenly appeared beside my right ear, making me curse at him, and whispered sensually, "I was thinking of some nighttime entertainment." My wrath burst out of me, and I punched Rhysand right across the jaw. The High Lord of Night. I _punched_ him. It made me feel giddy with the prospect of danger. He staggered away, still laughing that infernal laugh. "You thought I was _serious_! You should have seen your face!" For a minute, I'm completely dumbfounded. This isn't Rhysand like I'd known him before. This Rhysand is free and happy and making _jokes_. His face turned serious. "However, you must attend the festival this evening with me." My dread rises up, remembering my time spent Under the Mountain, when I was paraded around like Rhysand pet. My face heated.

"Don't worry," Rhsyand said quickly. "Nothing like that. You can choose what you wear." I raised my eyebrows and he added, "And none of that wine, either." He frowned and looked up at the ceiling, tendrils of darkness cocooning his beautiful body. "I'll meet you at your rooms in an hour." The Night swallowed him, and I was alone. Shit! I cursed Rhysand as I realized I didn't know anything about my surroundings. What if some other Faerie found me here? Well, I reflected, I was Fae now too. Only, my powers hadn't really kicked in yet, only the physical enhancements.

The darkness twisted again and the two handmaiden spies who attended me at Under the Mountain suddenly latched onto my arms. I began to struggle, then realized Rhysand must have sent them to show me to my rooms or something. Rhysand is so obnoxious sometimes, I wonder how he survived all these years without exploding from his large ego.

I'm flying through this same void again, the handmaidens holding onto me very tight. What would happen if they were to let go? I shuddered. And was once again dumped onto what was this time a downy, velvety bed in the middle of a large chamber. There was an adorned fireplace to the left of the room, with black and green fire crackling in the hearth. There was no curtains for the windows, and no view either, only endless Night. A walnut wardrobe and dresser stood to the right, complete with a mirror and a soft, plain carpet on the cold floor. The walls and floor were formed of black marble. It seemed like the whole damn kingdom or palace, or whatever it was, was made of black freaking rock.

The handmaidens disappeared and I was on my own. Rhysand said he was coming to bring me to the festivities in an hour. Naturally, the first thing I had to do was change out of my flimsy nightgown and something more substantial. I rifled through the wardrobe, finding lacy dress after revealing dress. I finally came to a drawer in the dresser with some tunics and simple pants. I pulled them on gratefully, reveling in the security and movement in these clothes.

The clothes are black, like everything, with a slight gold trim on the cuffs. I decided that I wouldn't wear makeup, or try to stand out, and I would always have to be on my guard. I made a mental note. No dresses or fancy shoes. I simply couldn't run or fight in those. For the rest of the remaining time I try to amuse myself by attempting to read the many books I found in an adjoining room.

Finally, a knock echoes from the door. I swallow and smooth down my clothes before yanking open the door. Rhysand wrinkles his nose; "You're wearing _that?_ " I stick my nose in the air. "So what if I am?" He himself is wearing what he always wear, an outfit- just like mine. I look identical to him, or at least my garments do. I'm mortified. "I didn't know-"Rhysand waves a hand in the air, a gesture of indifference. "It's no big deal. Hurry up or we'll be late."

We begin to walk side by side, not touching, when I ask, "I still don't know where were going." "You'll see soon enough," was the only answer. Soon we came to a giant set of doors, engraved like the walls in the great hall. The two guards at the door bowed stiffly, their blue faces emotionless. I catch one of them running his eyes up and down my form, and I'm ready with an insult, to berate, I don't know what, when Rhysand snarls. He too has caught the look of the guard. I'm astounded again, speculating about this new Rhysand.

Rhysand had no problem parading me before, but then, he was trying to keep me alive. Rhsyand is saying something to the guard that I don't catch. The guard goes pale and nodded, and I'm yanked through the doors to what lays beyond. What I thought was the ballroom is actually outside, an enormous field and a garden, finished with a hedge maze and fountains, all sparkling under the night sky. Tables of food are laid out, a great bonfire in the centre of the crowd. The whole setup looks familiar, more than just the Night court here, or so it seems. I realize with sinking horror that it looks like a festival I had once attended at the Spring Court, where I first met Rhsyand. _Calanmai._


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi again! Thanks for reading and reviewing! Sorry about all the mistakes in the previous chapters: as I have said before, I haven't written any stories or anything in a very long time. Hope this chapter is better! Yeah, so the 0.0000000000001% chance actually won out this time. This chapter isn't as fast-paced as I hoped it would be, but the next one should be more interesting. Just saying, if you can't find this story one day, just check the M rated category. I might change the rating one day for violence, and maybe other stuff, but definitely nothing serious. Enjoy!**

Feyre's POV:

I'm screwed. One hundred percent, totally screwed. _Calanmai?_ Really? Rhysand must be insane. I try to dash right back into the palace when said insane man blocks my way.

"Feyre, I can explain-"I throw my hands up in the air. "Explain? _Explain!_ All right, I'd love to hear it!" I feel this burning sensation writhe under my skin, so hot- no, cold- that it is actually painful. It's like the time I had accidently spilled boiling hot water from the kettle onto my arms. I was fourteen then, and my father had been furious at me for being so clumsy. This is what it feels like. Something so hot it feels like ice.

I'm so absorbed in this, that I don't even notice Rhysand is talking to me until he calls my name. "Feyre? Feyre, are you listening?" I search for something to say. "Uh huh- what? Yes, I am," I mumble. I feel like smacking myself in the face. Way to make yourself sound like a fool, Feyre. Rhsyand arches an eyebrow to show he knows I'm lying. "Anyways, I didn't see why you would be upset. It's not like I brought you here specifically for the...Rite." I feel stupid now, my face burning. I had jumped to the first possible conclusion, and made myself look ridiculous.

Rhsyand is dragging me to a secluded spot in the garden. "There's more to Calanmai then meets the eye. It's also a time when- he gestures to the sky- this, becomes visible." I strain my eyes towards the starry night sky, until I see what Rhysand must mean. Across the moon and stars bounds a white stag, pursued by a hunting party dressed in fine, luxurious silks. Their faces were both terrible and majestic, cold and haughty, but also merciful. They looked ancient, even more so than Rhysand, Tamlin, or even Amarantha. I rubbed my eyes with my closed fists, a warm breeze stirring my hair.

"It can't be real," I murmured. A hunt taking place through the stars? Impossible. "It's the Great Hunt. " Rhysand's voice is quiet. "Legend has it that those who reach the end of the world and die there receive a place in the Hunt. Even mortals. They will forever be chasing the White Stag across the world, stopping only to feast every night with the Watchers of the Cauldron." For the first time, I see Night and think, _beautiful._

Rhysand's POV:

For a second, seeing Feyre's golden-brown hair lying over her shoulder, her face stunning in the moonlight, all I want to do is corner her in the hedges and kiss her senseless. But of course, one can't do what he always wants. Not if it would cause a war between Spring and Night and cause more bad than good. Earlier this evening, when Feyre first realizes that I had brought her to the Sacred Rite, I thought she could sense my lie when I told her that I didn't bring her here for the Rite. In hindsight, it wasn't really a lie. Just skirting the truth a little bit. I snort, and Feyre turns back to me. She's asking me something, but all I'm concentrating on is the movement of her legs I can spot through the fitted trousers she's wearing. _Get a hold on yourself, Rhysand._

I roughly grab hold of her arm, jolting her out of her peaceful state. "You've seen enough. Go get some food." I see her face and add, "It's safe. I've made sure of that." Feyre scurries off, looking happy to be out of my company. Why wouldn't she? It still hurts though. I'm alone, watching the Hunt race through the sky. When I was a boy- I smile grimly, I can barely remember my childhood- I used to dream of finding my way to the ends of the Earth and joining the Great Hunt. People would watch me in the sky, and I would finally become one with myself. A worthless wish. I needed to lead my people, to become an example. I'm becoming increasingly melancholy, so I decide to go find Feyre.

I allow myself a wry smile, and the stars seem to shine in response. Nothing was boring with Feyre, the wildcat, beautiful and breathtaking and stunning. I really have to stop thinking about her. Like an infection you don't notice until you're halfway to the grave, my attraction to Feyre had taken me by surprise.

I try to fill my head with senseless, worthless thoughts, the faces of the girls whose hearts I'd broken, the faces of those whose minds I had broken as well. Evil thoughts. Evil actions. Because that is all I am, and I do not deserve anything good. The Night grows closer to the time I will have to pick a faceless female to regenerate the earth, and I still have not found Feyre. I reach out the tendrils of my power, searching the sea of minds, trying to locate the familiar thoughts. They're not there. I expand my mind even further, and finally locate a sliver of Feyre in the masses. But that's it. Only a sliver, which means she's either sleeping or barely conscious.

But I know Feyre, and I know that she would never fall asleep surrounded by unknown Fae. Shit. I'm running now, following the trail of her consciousness. I'm so close, I can just faintly pick up on a few disjointed thoughts. The one thing I can hear very clearly is my name; Feyre is calling my name out in terror in her mind. She suddenly flickers, and then she's gone. I'm panicking now, straining my senses to pick on any scent or noise to locate Feyre's whereabouts. I should never have brought her to Calanmai. _Stupid, senseless fool!_ It's almost time for the Rite; I have to find her now. Suddenly, a painful, white light flashes across the sky, over in a split second, but I can feel the power and magic for minutes afterward.

Some instinct tells me it's Feyre, so I run in that direction. I find Feyre in a forgotten and pitch black area of the Garden, shaking, huddling in a ball. For a terrible second I think she's dead, but her chest is rising and falling unsteadily.

Feyre's POV:

The first thing after my outburst that I feel is cold. Wet and freezing, like I was drained of all warmth in a second. The three bastardly Fae that had attacked me had quickly run off after what seemed like a magical display of power. The Fae that had ambushed me had obviously been drunk, trying to give me sloppy kisses, not pushy until I told them to stop. That's when they forced me, and had… I groaned. The magic had erupted out of me, but too late. The very light in the air had burned them, suffocating the Fae, until they escaped my deadly magic. My powers had finally surfaced.

The grass underneath me was soft, and I was almost asleep when a hand shook me awake. I opened my blurry eyes to see a pale blob with a black blob on top. My eyes cleared and I realized it was Rhysand. His warm hands gripped my ice-cold arms and he shook me again. "Feyre! Feyre! What happened?" Rhysand's voice was laced with worry and concern, eyes wide and probing. His tunic sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his hair was unruly. I tried to form words to explain, but my voice caught in my throat and I drifted out of consciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey all of my beloved readers! Thank you for reviewing (I love you guys)! Oneaquaberry, I would really like to thank you for your review! I'm really grateful, and I hope this chapter reaches your expectations. I also updated the other chapters, but not by much. I was going to write more for this chapter, but then I was like, why not leave a little bit of suspense for the chapter five? I'm trying to develop this plot, but probably need to get a move on. Enjoy!**

 **-TheLastBookBender**

Feyre POV:

I awake in a fluffy, warm mound of pillows and blankets up to my chin. The fire in the hearth is roaring, and through the windows it looks to be not as dark, more of a dusky color. Maybe the Night Court isn't always stuck in the middle of night after all. It takes me a minute to notice the prone form of Rhysand, slumped in a chair. "Rhys?" I venture quietly. His head snaps up, illuminating the room with his violet eyes. I rub the space between my eyebrows with sore fingers. "How did I get here Rhysand? What happened?" Rhysand snarls. " _What happened_? I should be the one asking you that exact same question!" Silence ensues, as both of us glare at each wither. I'm the first to turn away. "I-I don't know. I just… they took me by surprise." He leans forward, hands on his knees.

"Who did?"

"Three of your Fae."

Rhysand's gaze hardens. "What did they do to you?" I'm silent, letting Rhysand fill in the gaps. It's pretty obvious; my torn tunic, cornered in one of the most secluded part of the palace grounds. Rhysand rakes a shaky hand through his hair. "You can't tell anyone. Especially not Tamlin." His callousness takes me by surprise, but I try to disguise it as I ask him why. "Use that brain of yours, Feyre. Tamlin would tear Night apart to find those Fae, and me as well for not protecting you." I wince.

"I don't need anyone to protect me."

"To hell you don't! Do you see what happens when-"

He falls silent. "Just keep your mouth shut for once, Feyre. And try not to get into any more trouble." Rhysand stretches and gets up from his chair. His footsteps are soft as he pads to the door, rumpled clothes hanging off his lanky frame. "I'll find someone to bring you lunch," Rhysand says as he disappears through the door and into darkness.

Rhsyand's POV:

I lean on a cold, black wall as disgust washes over me. Who knows what Feyre is thinking now? I could easily peek into her mind, but I don't want to destroy anything else of hers. Let her thoughts remain her own. Still, I don't need to read her mind to feel the waves of hurt rolling over her. My words; _my_ insensitive words at what _my_ Fae had done to her were unprecedented.

I should have been begging her for forgiveness. I told her she would be safe.

But there are ways to make up for a broken promise. I smile grimly to myself. I would find those Fae, and I would make them pay. I shadow-travel to my bedroom, which is simply a bed and a few shelves holding books and a one or two trinkets. I shove a few ash wood knives onto my boots, strap a sword to my hip, and for good measure, send a bow and arrows and another sword into the void. I can easily pick them up later from the black abyss whenever I want. It's a benefit of being a Night High Fae; having an endless storage space in the ether. My own powers can kill easily, but conventional methods are a bit more fun, if I have the time or the patience.

I sit on the edge of my bed, letting the security and comfort relax my body, allowing my mind to stretch my normal limits. I gently rummage through the thoughts of any minds that attract my attention, so softly that they couldn't feel my presence if they tried. Some minds are simply attracting my attention because of their situation. I frown. _Is that-?_ _It is._ A mind that should not have been there is traveling underground beneath the perimeters of the castle.

The mind smells; of flowers and grass and fresh water. _Tamlin._

The idiot is coming to Night.

He won't get far; the magical borders will stop anyone of immense power of another court. Some part of me wants and realizes I should comprehend him before her does any damage, or before he gets hurt. Feyre would never forgive me if that happened. But a bigger part of me wants to spill the blood of Feyre's attackers.

It doesn't take long to locate a loud, hungover mind projecting its unruly thoughts of Feyre. I dig deeper into his mind and see in exact detail what he did to Feyre. My anger rises up, and a growl bursts out of my throat. His name is Luthe, trying to relive his headache in a dirty inn. Imagine his surprise when I show up to kill him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Rhysand's POV:**

The inn was located just at the border of Night, near the coast. It was meant for all manner of creatures, from mortals to High Fae, all arriving from the sea. And it was filthy. The stench of vomit and urine permeated the air, the floor was covered in a layer of dirt mixed with ale, and what looked like blood splattered the walls. Several drunken men lay sprawled across chairs and one was curled up in a ball in a puddle of something unidentifiable in a forgotten corner.

I wrinkled my nose. This place should have been burned to the ground decades ago.

The shadows still hid any sight or smell of me as I slipped through the tables and over to the Fae coiled in the corner. _Luthe._ He's not High Fae, but one of the species that is very close to it; resembling one of them, but not as strong or influential.I quickly pull the faces and names of his two companions out of his mind.

One was sleeping in a pile of horse dung in the inn's stable, and the other was already on his horse and trotting away. I would chase that one down later.

Luthe jerked awake. I hadn't been gentle while probing his thoughts. "What the-?" he asked sleepily. I was about to reveal myself when the door to the inn slammed open. Two High Fae stalked into the room, scenting the air and grimacing in disgust. The owner pf the inn scurried forward, his gauzy wings fluttering anxiously behind him. "My lords!" He exclaimed nervously. "What can someone as humble as I do for those as noble as you?"

I chuckled lightly in the following silence. The man was screaming the funniest obscenities in his head at the nobles; I simply couldn't help it. It was also time to make my appearance.

The shadows slowly melted off my body, spooling into a ball then disappearing. The High Fae hissed, seeing only a glamour; a man with dark black hair, tanned skin, and green eyes. The glamour looks nothing like me- I made sure of that- but still radiates a sense of power. The slumbering Fae were all wide awake now, watching the spectacle.

"Put away your weapons," I demand of the two High Fae, who had drawn their weapons, their bodies lean and dangerous. But I was more dangerous than both of them put together. "I want no trouble; only him." I look pointedly towards Luthe.

The occupants are silent. Luthe is staring at me with a wide expression of fear: nostrils flared, tense muscles, and a hand inching towards his boots, where a knife is probably hidden. I want to take my time with Luthe-but he wasn't the one with the idea to attack Feyre.

Surrounded by all these people, I decide to go for the less dramatic way. Normally I'd try to be the center of attention, but right now, for some odd reason, I don't want to be observed. This revenge is personal.

I splay my fingers, and Luthe goes ramrod straight, his body frozen. "I know what you did," I whisper to Luthe. "And did I not order that she was to be left alone?" Luthe screams, terror etched on his face.

"It's him, it's him-!' I clench my hand into a fist, bored, as the blood leaks out of his nose. I had crushed his puny little mind between my fingers, and it felt _glorious._

Screams reverberated throughout the room and in my bones and in my blood.

And I basked in the wonder of it all.

The one in the stable was easy enough to dispatch; an ash blade to the heart. The one that I was really looking forward too was the one already gone-the ringleader.

I let the darkness rip my body to shreds and piece me back together not even a mile from the where the last Fae was now sleeping. My wings unfurl behind me and I launch into the air, the wind streaming through the blue-black strands of my hair. It had been so long since I had last stretched my wings and used them to fly.

This is what I missed the most. When I was Under the Mountain, serving as Amarantha's whore, this is what I yearned for. To fly.

I feel a slight shard of consciousness and speed in that direction. I glean all I can from his mind as I land a foot away from where he rests.

His name is Ash.

And ash he will be when I am done with him.

Ash lets loose a guttural scream. I have him chained to a rock, with a steel blade stuck in his thigh. "Please," he whimpers. "No more!" He twists in an effort to escape the bindings.

I hiss, showing all my teeth. "Is that what she said to you? When you raped her?" I plunge another knife into his shoulder, hard enough to pin it into the rock. Ask opens his mouth to scream, but his throat is too hoarse to continue. I had tortured him mentally first, warping his memories and thoughts, bringing him through terrible scenarios.

"Last one," I croon, and sink an ash wood dagger into his stomach. A painful death, slow and merciless. I twist the blade in his flesh and he sobs, rivulets of blood ruining his fine, pale skin.

I leave him there to die, but I give him a chance to be able to escape if he tries hard enough. I hadn't killed Ash instantly, there is still hope for him. But I wish in my heart that he dies.

I shadow-travel to Feyre's room, wanting to see the face that I had killed for. Her soft hair has pooled on the pillow, a halo for a precious angel. My body automatically begins to move towards her sleeping one.

 _Only for a moment._ I settle in the bed beside her, my chest curved around her back. Feyre's warmth is calming, and I find myself drifting off. _No!_ I kick myself awake, and am about to force myself out of Feyre's bed when she rolls over, murmuring peacefully. We're face to face, and my hands betrays me when it reaches out to stroke her gentle face.

An insatiable desire is burning in my chest; I want to kiss her. My mouth finds its way to her eyebrows, planting a soft kiss there. Then her eyes, cheeks, and the corner of her mouth.

And Feyre's eyes fly open.

 **Feyre's POV:**

I was dreaming about Rhysand. He was slaughtering three faceless Fae; his anger raging. Then suddenly I'm jerked awake, my hunter's instincts reacting to a body to close for comfort. I feel smooth lips caress my cheeks, and right beside my lips.

My eyes shoot open to find Rhysand lying beside me.

I'm scrambling away, pushing Rhysand backwards. He lets me, guilt and worry written all over his face. His hands reach out to me. I swat them away.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" My voice begins at a whisper and climbs to a shriek.

"Feyre, I can explain-"

I take a deep breath. "What do you want, Rhysand? I love Tamlin; what will sneaking in my bed and kissing me accomplish? Or is his a giant joke to you? Rhsyand slumps.

"We're mates."

I stumble backwards. My mind is denying this, shock coursing through my veins, my head shaking back and forth. It's like I just got punched in the stomach. "We can't be! I- no, I would have felt it!" Rhysand's warm hands grasp my wrists. "You will, one day. I've been waiting for you to realize-"

"No."

I close my eyes. "Send me back, Rhysand. Send me right back to the Spring Court right now, or so help me, I will destroy Night piece by piece to get there!" Rhysand pulls me closer to himself. "Please, Feyre! Please! You don't understand!"

"Send me home."

Rhsyand is quiet. "Alright," he sighs. "But only if you give me one kiss first. I promise that you will know, know that we are mates, once you give yourself freely to me." I'm speechless. I would have never thought that Rhysand would make that sort of bargain with me. But if that is what I have to do to get back, then so be it.

"Only one."

"Yes, only one." Rhysand leans forward. I'm standing stock still, waiting for the moment Rhysand's lips touch mine. And when they do, it's like I've been filled with an inexplicable energy. His lips are tender and supple, and I find myself leaning into him to find, forcing his lips apart with my tongue. Rhysand's tongue swirls through my mouth, and his arms surround me, safe and strong and comforting.

I had never felt this way, not even when kissing Tamlin. _Rhysand was right. We_ are _mates._ In a haze we stumble towards the bed, and we don't notice that the door has opened until Rhsyand freezes.

An earthy scent fills the room, mixed with raindrops and dew. I know that smell. And it could be only one who fit that description.

 _Tamlin_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello my beautiful readers, my lovelies. Thank you for reviewing! It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. But please keep reviewing! Anyways, here is Chapter Six. There are still more chapters to come, so…YAY! It is also only in one Pov; Feyre's. Anyways, hope you enjoy this not so adventurous and hopefully emotional chapter! Any follows/Faves would be awesomely appreciated. Peace out!**

 **-TheLastBookBender**

 **Feyre's POV:**

I gasp for air, my hand pressed over my mouth as if to keep Rhysand's kiss on my lips. What is Tamlin doing here? He must have found some way to sneak into the Night Court for me. For me. When I have betrayed him.

Tamlin roars, already shifting, heart-breaking grief and rage coursing through his voice, his body. His face elongates into jaws full of snapping teeth, his legs and arms stretching, with dark fur piercing his skin. It looks almost painful.

Rhsyand shoves me behind him, to put a wall of meat between the beast and myself. "Control yourself!" Rhysand warns Tamlin.

" _Control myself?"_ Tamlin yells through a monsters jaws. "Control myself when you have turned her against me?" His voice cracks pitifully at the last word, almost falling to a whimper. Tamlin prowls toward us, claws clacking against the stone floor.

I step out from behind Rhysand and hold out a hand pleadingly. "Tamlin, please, let me explain." He snarls.

"Did he force you?" There is a hint of hope lining his words. I swallow. "Did he force you?" Tamlin bellows again. "Answer me!"

My voice cracks and stutters. "He…I…No."

Tamlin lets out a keening wail. It cuts through my skin and bones, flowing through my blood, straight to my heart, where it cracks in two.

"Please." His voice is hoarse. "Please. I can forgive you." The room is silent, and I jump when a sharp wind clatters against the windows.

"Will you come back with me?" Rhysand is slowly edging me back behind him. He knows my answer. He knows it will break me, but he knows. And he wants to protect me when Tamlin hears what the truth will be.

"I cannot."

Tamlin's wrath and sorrow is blinding, and he leaps towards us, claws outstretched, ready to tear us _both_ to pieces. Rhysand snarls and in a split second, Tamlin goes from a feral beast to a slumbering human on the floor.

Rhysand collapses against me, breathing hard as if he had just ran to the Spring Court and back. I shake him, panicked. He sees my face and chuckles lightly. "It…takes…a lot of….power…and energy to…put a High Lord…to sleep."

I smile grimly to hide my grief. "We had better do something about him before he wakes up." Rhsyand nods in agreement, his feeble breath stirring my hair. Abruptly, the same two handmaidens materialize in the room.

Rhysand stares at them intently, and I realize he must be speaking to them telepathically. They stare back and then they both grasp Tamlin; one at his feet and the other his arms. The more-than-spies-and-handmaidens disappear again into the dark.

"What will they do with him?" I ask Rhsyand, hoping his answer won't be the dungeons or something else as bad.

Rhysand dusts off his clothes, seemly re-energized. "Back to Spring. They'll also strengthen the wards around Night." He frowns. "The wards should have held him off in the first place….."

My face screws up in question. "Wards? What wards?" I'm curious to know; do all courts have wards? What do they do? Are they magical or simply a wall of some sort?

Rhysand scratches the back of his neck. "The Wards were first made to prevent High Lords from taking over other courts. They keep any exceptionally powerful Fae from other courts from entering the defending courts. They can only enter through permission of the High Lord of the other court. The wards are magical; they feed off any power given to them."

"Wait, so if the High Lord of Autumn, say, wanted to attack Night, he or any other High Fae wouldn't be able to enter without permission from you?"

"That's pretty much it." Silence descended, thick with tension. Rhysand opens his mouth, about to roach a topic I don't want to talk about right ow. I hold up a hand.

"Not now Rhsyand. I'm going to get some sleep. You should too." I glare at his hopeful expression. " _Alone_." I say pointedly.

"Please?" Rhsyand asks quietly.

I'm battling internally. One parts of me adamantly refuses. The Night Lord in my bed? Absolutely not. The other part craves a warm body to hold in my sadness. "Fine," I sigh through gritted teeth. " _But only sleep_."

Rhysand grins. "I didn't mean anything else." I crawl into bed without changing, my regular clothes making me feel a bit more secure. Rhysand hesitates, then settles in next to me. I don't know how I can be able to sleep, with him lying right next to me, almost touching but not quite. I blush.

"You know, this is a first," Rhysand says beside me. "Sleeping in a bed with someone, but you know, only sleeping." He turns on his side towards me. "I'm not the plague. We can actually touch, you know."

I huff, ignoring him. His fingers lazily find their way to my hand, running up my arm. My heart pounds. "I am seriously reconsidering my decision." He doesn't reply, his other hand coming to rest on my thigh. "Hey!" I shove his hand off.

Rhysand flashed me a cheeky grin. "Sorry, I had to try." I push him onto his back.

"Sleep." I relax when Rhsyand doesn't move, and I am just drifting off when I unconsciously turn onto my side. I could never sleep on my back. Now Rhsyand and I are face to face. My eyes snap open to find his gaze matching mine, brown and gold to deep violet.

Rhsyand hugs me to his chest with an indignant squeak from me, but it seems more like something friends would do, and I grow limp in his embrace. And suddenly I'm crying, his warmth coaxing the tears building up in me to slide down my cheeks. Everything: Under the Mountain, the two Fae I was forced to kill, Tamlin and Lucien and Alis whom I had left, Rhysand and my family.

So he holds me to his chest and lets me pour out my feelings unto him.

And I am at peace.

This is right.


	7. Chapter 7

**HEY YOU ALL! I'VE BEEN REALLY BUSY, AND HAVEN'T REALLY GOTTEN AROUND TO THIS FANFIC! FORGIVE ME! Anyways, I was scrolling through , and saw that I had more reviews, and after reading them, led to me writing this, and probably starting up again. I promise you, the more you people review, I will post like, 100% faster. Hope you enjoy, I'm a bit rusty, and sorry for any mistakes!**

 **REVIEWS! REVIEWS! REVIEWS!**

 **TheLastBookBender**

Feyre's POV:

I awoke not to chattering birds, but to silence. To darkness and stars and deep violet eyes. _Violet eyes._ I jerked myself backwards, almost falling off the edge of the bed in the process. Rhysand was in my bed. In my bed. _Oh Cauldron!_ Tamlin. Mates. Wards. _Rhysand in my bed_.

I groaned as last night returned to me. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have dismissed Tamlin like that. I should have left with him and returned to a quiet, contented life in the Spring Court. But quiet and contented wasn't what I wanted, I realized. It was Rhysand. Rhysand who had paraded me around. Rhysand who had coerced me into an unbreakable vow. Rhysand who almost broke my mind the second time I met him. And we were mates. It couldn't get any worse, yet it also couldn't be better.

Rhsyand's POV:

I didn't sleep all night. But really, who would expect me to? Give a man some credit. All I wanted to do was kiss her and well, do other things with her, but no. I behaved myself. I waited patiently for Feyre to wake.

I waited until the blackness turned to something more soft, like ink to charcoal and ash. Her eyes snapped open, and she threw herself away from me before I could react. Seeming to remember what had took place the night before, she settled in warily beside me.

"Why are you still here?" She asked, her eyes boring into my own.

"Don't you have some Lordly duties to attend to?" I flicked her nose, savoring the slight ping of annoyance that radiated from Feyre. She was beautiful, and utterly mine.

"Those can wait. Right now, I think I'm allowed a bit of time to relax with you." Feyre crossed her arms and sat up abruptly. I chuckled. The little wildcat could never just go along with something, could she? No, she had to scowl and glare and bicker her way into everything, but then again, that is what I loved. The spirit so much like Night, though a bit more, noticeable.

She glared. "Just because we happen to be mates, doesn't mean everything is all hunky-dory now. No one is relaxing with anyone." This time, I glared back.

"Why can't you ever accept anything? We are mates, we are _destined_ to be together, so we might as well get to know each other!" She threw her hands up in the air.

"Rhysand, are you capable in any way to consider other people and their feelings!" I wanted to throttle her. Insolent, ungrateful, and _stubborn as hell._

"Consider what? It doesn't take much too just, I don't know, spend some time with a friend!" Oh, she was mad.

"Friend? _Friend_? Rhysand, you expect so much more! I have just rejected the man I had killed for, almost died for, and you want me to suddenly become your mate?"

"I wasn't talking about that when I said to _relax!_ As in _friends!"_ We're full blown yelling now, and the shadows are twisting around the room, tense. The room is silent. Then, to my utter and complete surprise, Feyre begins to laugh. Deep, belly laughs, so hard she almost pisses herself.

"I can't believe were arguing about this right now, it's so dumb." I give her a look that says _you started it._ She pointedly ignores that look.

I sigh and rake my hand through my hair. Ew. It's messy and greasy. I spend a little bit of magic cleaning up the mop that sits atop my head, tendrils of Night swirling around my fingers for the slightest moment. "So, Feyre," I ask somewhat quietly. "I was thinking, maybe I could bring you to the woods. You haven't seen those yet, have you?" Feyre. I jumped out of bed and pulled off the covers in one yank.

"Then we're going. Hurry and get changed." I head out through the door, and called back, "the servants have a day off today. The common ones at least, as it's an annual ritual for them. It's their version of Calanmai." I frown. "You can dress yourself, right? Oh, and one more thing; as much as I love those dresses, don't wear those for the forest." I grin wickedly. "We're going hunting."

Feyre's POV:

Going hunting? I couldn't wait. I hadn't felt the adrenaline, the feeling of being the predator, becoming as stealthy as a ghost in a long time. I searched out a new pair of tunics and trousers, the one that I had worn to Calanmai ruined. I shuddered, forcing the memory to the back of my head.

I wondered, in hundreds of years, would I simply remember these events coldheartedly, laughing at my innocence. _Get over it, Feyre. Many worse things can happen in forever._

I peeled my mind away from those subjects, tossing clothes out of the wardrobe one by one. There was not a single pair of tunic and trousers in sight. I growled my frustration. What idiot assumed that every girl liked to wear only fancy dresses?

I dragged the dresser open, searching through the drawers, and on the last one I finally found pants and a tunic shoved into a corner. I pulled them out. They looked to be old, and a slightly different style, like it was specifically designed for females. I shrugged and tried them on.

Shit. There were ties at the back, for whatever reason. It was like someone had sewn a type of corset into the back, to exemplify curves.

I was not going to wear this contraption in front of Rhysand. I would rather die.

I slouched towards the door, holding the tunic to my chest. I opened the door a crack, curling my head around the frame and urgently whispering, "Rhysand!"

He appeared in a puff of Black. "Yes, little wildcat?" I ignored his endearment.

"I need you to go to your rooms, or anywhere, and find me a tunic. And trousers would be great as well." He pursed his lips.

"For what reason?" He asked. I could literally see the smile dancing along his lips. And for one moment, I wanted to smack it off. But one shouldn't hit those they are asking a favour of.

"You know why! I can't find anything! Except for this…thing." Rhysand burst out laughing.

"You...found…it!" He squeezed out between chuckles. "You…found…the…experiment!" My confusion must have shown on my face, so he straightened up and fixed his own tunic. "About a hundred years back, an ambitious, fashionable inventor decided to create a tunic for females, like a dress combined with a tunic, for females. Let's say it didn't go down well, and only one or two were actually made, as prototypes."

"Oh. Well, could you _please_ get me a few pairs of tunics and trousers at some point, but for now, you must have a spare I could use." Rhysand sighed dramatically, leaning in closer than I liked. His gaze swept down lower, where the tunic clutched to my bosom barely covered my breasts.

"Fine." He held up a finger. "On one condition." I did not like where this was going. "I get a kiss first." I gaped at him. "Outfit for a kiss, sweetheart. If you refuse, then it looks like someone is either hunting in a dress or buck naked. I actually don't mind the second one." Leaning my head against the door, I nodded my assent.

"One." Rhysand leaned in even closer, and then his mouth was hot upon mine, tongue prying open my mouth. His hands were cradling my head, and much as I longed to, I couldn't hold him, my hands preoccupied with keeping myself decent. _But why not?_ A little voice whispered in my mind. _Why not let him have all of you?_

I pulled back. You have your one kiss, now go get me my clothes." He saluted me mockingly.

"Yes ma'am!" before he turned to go, I grabbed his arm.

"And no more planting thoughts in my head, Rhysand." He stared at me, for once looking genuine.

"I didn't touch your mind, not even once."

My entire being went cold. Then was it me demanding to give myself to him?


	8. Chapter 8

**Feyre's POV:**

The trees were impossible. Hard, deep black-blue obsidian made up the trunks, and their leaves… their leaves were tiny balls of starlight, flattened out and hanging on a thread of stone. They were unlike anything I had ever seen before. Even the shining starlight pool in the Spring Court was absolutely nothing compared to this.

Thinking of Tamlin sent a sharp pang through my chest, albeit a bit muted.

I was dressed for a day in the woods; black tunic and trousers to blend in, a knapsack with a spare cloak and some food, and soft leather boots that hugged my feet, to compliment the outfit. In other words, I would look like death going on a stroll if a human ever saw me. Unearthly. Goddess-like.

I found that I liked that.

Rhysand appeared at my side, holding out an ornately carved bow, complete with black fletched arrows. I took them out of his hands and slung the quiver over my shoulder. "Why does everything have to be so…black?" I grumbled.

"Feyre, darling, how do you think I look so stunningly frightening all the time?" He replied mockingly with the air of a noble. "It just wouldn't do for the Lord of Night to stroll around in yellow, now would it?"

I suppressed the thought of Rhysand prancing around in a field of flowers, adorned with sunny garments. Or at least, I tried to. Something suddenly _pulled_ out of me, like a dog tugging at its leash.

Then the pain came. I dropped to my knees, cradling my head. Tiny fishhooks attached themselves to me and started wrenching. They were literally ripping open my skin and pulling out my soul, baring it to the cold world. It was excruciating.

I could hear Rhysand yelling in the background, feel the spiky grass beneath my knees, and taste the wind... all while choking on my own misery, as blood bubbled up between my lips.

As quick as it started, it stopped. Rhysand was gently holding my head, kneeling across from me, shaking my lifeless body. "Feyre? Feyre, can you hear me? Feyre, please."

I wiped the blood from my mouth with a shaky hand. "I'm alright. Rhysand, what _was_ that?" His eyes were wide. _Frightened_.

"Cauldron, Feyre! What the hell were you doing, you blundering idiot!" I was aghast.

"What did _I_ do?"

"Of all the thick headed- Feyre, you tried to send me _yourself_." I was utterly confused. Send him me? What?

Seeing my confusion, Rhysand sighed and helped me up. "It was your powers, I think. I can send thoughts, images, even words telepathically." He frowned.

"Maybe when you were re-born you inherited some powers from every one of us. Like the light. Like the Lord of Day! How did I not see that before?" Rhysand wondered.

Needless to say, I was speechless. "Are you telling me that I have some of your abilities?" Rhysand shrugged.

"It seems to be so. And you, you stupid thing, decided to telepathically throw your entire being, or your soul, or whatever you want to call it, straight at my brain! You almost killed yourself!"

He gathered me up in his arms, and we suddenly re-appeared in a massive library. Rhysand plunked me down in a chair and crossed his arms. "No hunting today. Or for any time being. Right now, I'm going to teach you how to use your new-found abilities."

 **Five hours later: Rhsyand's POV:**

Cauldron bless me, but she was terrible. I had been instructing her in the basics for five hours, and she couldn't even talk to me. Telepathically, that is. Don't get me wrong; I didn't expect her to suddenly be at my level in five hours, as opposed to my centuries of learning. But she couldn't even _touch_ my mind.

Perhaps it had to do with the Light in her. Counteracting the Dark.

I rubbed my temples. "Stop, stop. No more for tonight. We can try again tomorrow."

And I felt her brush against my thoughts. _There is no tomorrow._

 **Feyre's POV:**

I felt his anguish. "But I thought you left Tamlin? I thought you were staying?" I squeezed my eyes shut.

"I can't, Rhysand. I have to go back, beg his forgiveness." I held up a hand. "I don't know what went on that night. But it can't stay that way."

Rhysand was angry and it broke my heart. But I couldn't stay, couldn't sacrifice the life I had built with Tamlin if I succumbed to the feelings.

"He will _never_ accept you back," Rhysand snarled.

I felt the blood drain from my face, feel myself go pale. "You lie. He will, he will."

Rhysand shook his head, and I could see it on his face. He knew. Had probably read it in his head as I spurned Tamlin. But if that was the case, and it was, I could feel it, then I would go somewhere else. Away from this mess. "I'm still leaving. I'll go the Day court. I'll go anywhere, just not here!"

I felt everything I had hidden, buried inside myself, and it was bursting out with the power of ten suns. Rhysand gripped the top of my arms, hard enough to hurt. His hair was ruffled endearingly, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. It hurt to leave him, more than it should have. And that was why I had to go. Too intense, too frightening.

"Tell me, Feyre," He hissed. "What is so bad about being here? With me? Have I mistreated you in any way since you came here?" I shook my head silently.

"Tell me why!' He roared. Too much like Tamlin. I took his head into my hands and shook him.

"Because! Because I always ruin everything! Because it always comes back to bite me! Because because because!" I was screaming unintelligibly.

" _Because I love you too much!"_

And all was quiet.


	9. Chapter 9

**I WOULD APPREICATE IT IF YOU ALL REVIEWED! PLEASE! REVIEW! IT MAKES ME WRITE MORE CHAPTERS EVEN FASTER! I SINCERELY APOLOGIZE FOR ANY MISTAKES; I DON'T ALWAYS CHECK MY WORK OVER. I'M ALWAYS TOO EXCITED TO FINALLY POST IT! THIS WILL BE EXTREMLY SHORT THOUGH, AND I APOLOGIZE.**

 **Rhysand's POV:**

That was not what I expected to come out of her mouth. _Because I love you too much._ The darkness around me stirred. I could hear her labored breathing as I prowled a little bit closer, close enough that my thighs touched hers.

"Because you love me too much?" I laughed, throwing my head back and rejoicing that she didn't hate me. I was consciously aware of how her whole body was strung along mine.

I twisted a lock of Feyre's hair as her breath stuttered and she grew still. "I don't believe in loving too much," I said, and leaned in to kiss her. This time, she was compliant beneath my fingers.

 **Feyre's POV:**

Rhysand was kissing me, his tongue sliding between my teeth and his arms wrapped around me. I gave in and melted into his touch, sighing. We were no longer in the library; instead, we were cocooned in the Darkness, and I could feel it crawling soothingly across my skin. Like a blanket being thrown gently over me.

I didn't realize that Rhysand was shedding my clothes until I felt a slight wind press against my bare skin. He grinned, glorious, and I ran my fingers through his silky black hair. Then the pause was over, and we resumed our dance, this time without the clothing that restricted us.

Rhysand was stroking his fingers across my skin, and whispered against me, "My Feyre. How I love you."

The words were almost lost in the sensations; the beautiful and breath-taking feelings in my chest, the feeling of Rhysand, and the lightning that seemed to streak across us both, tying our souls together. _Mates._


	10. Chapter 10

**OHMYGOSH HELLO ALL MY WONDERFUL AND BEAUTIFUL READERS! I sincerely apologize for my total lack of activity on this fanfic *winces*. It's been like, months. I've been soooooooo busy (Well not really). But like, here we go! Reviews and constructive criticism, anything, is most heartily welcome, my lovelies. Btw, this chapter right here is just some fluff to warm the hearts of my most beloved readers (hopefully).**

 **-TheLastBookBender**

 **All rights and characters belong to Sarah**

Feyre's POV:

People are strange. They can hate each other at first sight, swear to rip each other's spines from their bodies, play an intricate part in the others' slow and complicated execution. And then they can totally flip their perspectives and end up beside each other in bed, tied by an ancient bond. Definitely strange.

Something slowly pulled itself over my skin. Startled, my pulse quickened, only for me to realize it was the blankets inching themselves over to where Rhysand was laying. He lethargically rolled over in his sleep and the blankets were coming with him, transforming him into a dark black, furry burrito (Authors note: I realize burritos probably didn't exist in Feyre's world, but I couldn't resist).

This was the first time I had ever seen Rhysand less than perfect and impeccable; a small line of drool was snaking its way down his chin.

I laughed, and Rhysand bolted upright, the drool quickly re-tracing its path back into his mouth. "Wha- Fey-wha?" Rhysand stuttered blearily, causing me to laugh even harder.

It was literally the most adorable thing I had ever seen.

Rhysand's POV:

It does something to a man's pride and dignity when he awakes to the laughter of his mate, who is seemly _so_ amused at his _adorable-ness._

 _Oh hell no._ I was the Lord of Night, and I would never allow myself to be the subject of such mockery. I had to show Feyre who was ultimately boss.

I tackled her mid-laugh, and she gurgled as we tumbled to the floor. My expert fingers went to work; tickling. No part of Feyre's body was spared.

Her legs, feet, stomach, the sides of her torso; all fell prey to the tickling power. Feyre started shrieking like her kidneys were being chewed out by a rabbit, thrashing and laughing and spitting in my face.

"No, please!" She screamed. "I-No! Rhysand! Stop! Please! Mercy!" I pretended that I didn't hear her.

"Hmm? What was that?" I asked smugly. Feyre's words became unintelligible as she completely succumbed to the torture. She could fight a Faerie, survive the Middengard, hunt, and defy Amarantha, but the one thing she could not stand was being tickled.

Feyre was amazing, and wonderful and mine. And frankly, only the latter part mattered.

Her fist shot out, clipping me under the chin and throwing me backwards. I landed against the side of the bed, my head cracking against the wood. I grinned, exposing all my teeth. If that was how she wanted to play, I was all for it.

*****Some time later*****

Five bruises later, it was finally revealed to me that Feyre took this game of defend-herself-from-the-vile-tickle-attacker _very_ seriously. She watched me, alert, from a few feet away. I nonchalantly monitored her every move as I inched closer…

Feyre's POV:

I could see Rhysand trying to covertly move himself closer close to me. Under no circumstances was I going to- he disappeared, and I yelped as Rhysand re-appeared behind me, yanking me backwards into his arms. I braced myself for the barrage of tickles, but instead he just heled me to his chest.

The first thing I noticed was the warmth of his body and I melted into his embrace. Rhysand sighed contentedly, the sound rumbling through my body, and curled protectively around me on the floor.

Just as I was relaxing into the comfort of the cocoon, he suddenly flipped me onto my back, straddling me. "The game isn't over yet, my precious Feyre." Rhysand grinned wickedly, and leaned down to give me a heated kiss.

His tongue forced my mouth open as his hands started to wander.

The door flew open, a shadow framing the entrance. It bowed. "My apologies, my lord. But it seems-ah…"

Rhysand was already on his feet, dusting himself off and fixing his hair, impeccable as almost always. "Continue," he barked.

The shadow gave the impression of paling. "It seems to be, my Lord, that the wards are down. The lowland creatures are swarming Night, banished Night Fae too, everything!"

Rhysand's face was in a state of rare shock. He cursed loudly, raking pale hands through his hair. "How could I have not sensed it?" He growled.

Rhysand glanced to where I stood, immobile. "Let's go, Feyre." _Me?_ I asked mentally. _Duh. You're my mate. You can help, anyways._

Rhysand managed a cheeky smile that I returned, and we bounded out towards the war room together.


End file.
